


In All Sorts Of Ways

by StoleMyPersonality



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 22:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoleMyPersonality/pseuds/StoleMyPersonality
Summary: Just thoughts about what the show's characters might be thinking or feeling. I hope to add chapters but no promises because...life happens.Chapter 1: Michael thinks about what Max said when they were locked in the fallout shelter together (1x11).





	In All Sorts Of Ways

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posting. I'm new to the site and just learning what fans like.

POV Michael

This is the fourth night in a row that Michael has been unable to sleep despite busy days and an increasing physical tiredness. He sits outside his Airstream in the early morning. Michael watches the enormity of the night sky spread above him. The fire has burned low and the desert chill is seeping into him but Michael stays in his chair. There is simply no point in lying down when his mind keeps running again and again over what Max said.

Michael knows that he has avoided thinking about what happened in the fallout shelter when he and Max were locked in there together. Sure, there were other things, urgent things, happening that meant Max’s words barely registered at the time. More precisely, Michael had successfully put them out of his mind. But those fuckers lodged somewhere deep inside him and now, with every breath he takes, Michael cannot escape their echo.

_We haven’t talked in years and you know it._

_Everything that happens to you happens to me. Every beating, every burn, every damn heartbreak, you are never alone._

Michael sighs and shifts slightly to ease the ache in his right hip from sitting for so long in one position. He spent the first long night cursing Max. The self-righteous brother who, since becoming a deputy, regularly lectures Michael on his drinking, fighting, and general disorderliness. The next night passed rationalizing both Max’s anger and half-assed apology—if it was that—about how distant the two had become. Last night, Michael ended up at the Wild Pony trying to drown out all thoughts in whiskey. After a couple of hours he’d given up, gone home and sat in front fire staring at the stars. Going over everything again.

Tonight, Michael allows himself to begin to feel hurt. In the back of his mind, Michael knows this is new territory for him when it comes to his family. Michael doesn’t do hurt--he does anger, sarcasm, and bitterness. Michael prefers to unleash his chaos and throws punches and fuck yous around. He craves action over reflection. Michael smirks and mocks until someone comes at him with their fists. Bruised flesh and the taste of blood his antidote for emotional wounds. Certainly not thinking about how he feels.

Feeling are what Michael’s siblings do so well. Isabel’s dramatic ups and downs and Max’s persistent angst. They take the luxury of wallowing in their feelings whereas Michael has never allowed his the upper hand. He doesn’t get fucking depressed, he gets mad. He has earned his anger after so many years of holding it in. Of being unremarkable. Of cleaning up after the shit hits the fan.

With his head thrown back, neck resting on the metal of the patio chair, Michael takes in a deep breath and holds it. Absentmindedly, the knuckles of his left hand rub his sternum lightly up and down. Michael knows that he, Max and Isobel are blood bonded like no others. They are alone together on a hostile planet. Michael releases the breath he’s been holding but keeps rubbing his chest in slow rhythmic motions.

_You are my family Michael. Everything that happens to you happens to me. Every beating, every burn, every damn heartbreak, you are never alone. We are trapped together in all_ _sorts of ways._

“Fuck you Max Evans” Michael whispers.

Michael lets his thoughts drift to the stars above. Focusing on the constellations blocks out all other thoughts. Michael finds solace in watching the heavens above Roswell. It has been the one constant in his life since he was 11 years old. Looking up, away from the day-to-day ugliness helps Michael breathe easier. It grounds him in the way that very few things ever have. Even after the dream of leaving Roswell was shattered, after Alex walked away and enlisted in the Air Force, it was the stars that continued wink at Michael. Drifting far above and giving him hope of something better. Not for the first time, Michael searches the night for a star that might be home.

He realizes that his anxiety has peaked and drained away. His hand stilled on his chest, the palm laid flat against a steadied heartbeat. Calm, just breathing in and out. A few minutes late, Michael drags himself out of the chair and almost stumbles into the Airstream hoping to catch a few hours of sleep.

____________

The knocking on the door is loud and insistent. It swings open with growl and Max stands there, annoyance fading to a stunned look at seeing Michael on his doorstep. Max drags a hand over a weary face and rubs bleary eyes in an attempt to make sure he isn't dreaming.

Michael pushes the large cup with the Bean Me Up logo at Max, quietly waiting while the lid is pried off and Max blows gently across the dark, steaming brew. Max takes a sip and sighs, his whole body reacting with satisfaction as the caffeine hits his bloodstream.

_Jesus Michael. The next time you wait so long before showing up you’d better bring something stronger than coffee_.

Michael smirks and steps through the door that Max is holding open.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive feedback is welcome. I cannot be found elsewhere.


End file.
